


Would You Please Be So Kind to Close the Door Behind You?

by slpblue



Series: We're Dropped and Well-Concealed In Secret Places [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: College AU, M/M, Student/teacher relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slpblue/pseuds/slpblue
Summary: Honestly, Brendon can't seem to keep his hands off Patrick.  It'd almost be a problem, except for how Patrick can't keep his hands off Brendon, either.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based of the lovely one shot, [Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8691133) by [halfsweet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet) . You don't _need_ to read that one first...although it would probably be better if you do, and you definitely won't regret it. ;)

It’s quiet in the library, Brendon working steadily through his English work—he hates that class—next to Dallon, when his friend looks up to ask him a question.  “Have you—” Dallon stops, looking confused.

“What?” Brendon asks.

“What’s that?  There, on your neck?”  He points.

Brendon ducks away from Dallon’s hand.  “Nothing.  I don’t know.”

Dallon frowns at him.  “Is it—is that a hickey?”

Brendon fails at fighting away the blush he knows is rising on his cheeks.  “No.”

“It  _ is! _ ” Dallon exclaims.  He leans closer, obviously curious.  “But I thought you weren’t dating anyone right now.”

“I’m not,” Brendon declares.  “Which is why it’s not a hickey.”

“It’s totally a hickey.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is  _ not _ .”

“Is  _ too _ .”

“It isn’t, now shut the fuck up,” Brendon snaps.

Dallon looks taken aback at Brendon’s rudeness, shuffling his papers.  “Jesus.  Sorry I asked.”

“Whatever,” Brendon mutters, sinking down into his shoulders.

There’s another few minutes of silence before—”It’s not Ryan, is it?”

“Oh my god, Dal, shut.  Up.  About.  It,” Brendon grits, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt in an attempt to pull it higher.  He’s regretting not wearing something with a higher collar, although if he thinks about it, he had almost  _ wanted _ it to be seen.  He’s proud of the marking.  “It’s  _ nothing _ .”  Unbidden, an image of who  _ had _ put it there pops into Brendon’s mind, all pale skin and ginger hair and ocean eyes, full lips brushing over his skin and then pulling back to bite, marking Brendon as their own.  He remembers the sweat and the ripples of pleasure and of the scent of forbiddenness.  He shivers, fighting back a smile.

“Fine, fine.”  But after a second Dallon shifts and opens his mouth again.  “You know, as your friend and fellow classmate, you can tell me anyt—”

“Dallon.   _ Shut up _ .”

* * *

The door is labeled with the name  _ Prof. Patrick Stumph. _  Brendon knocks firmly, glancing again at his watch.  It’s just after lunch, about an hour before Patrick has his next class, which just happens to be the one Brendon has with him.  Brendon doesn't wait for a reply before swinging the door open, still watching the second hand tick across his watch face.  “Hey ba…” the pet name curls up and dies on his tongue when he sees that Patrick isn't alone.

The fucking  _ dean of the school _ is in Patrick's office, leaning casually on the back of his chair, talking about something of the monitor of Patrick's computer.  They both look up when Brendon enters the room, the dean looking surprised and Patrick looking terrified.

Brendon quickly backtracks.  “Hey buddy.  Bro.  Bud.  Budster.  My brotha.  Duuudeee.”

“Mr. Urie,” Patrick greets.  “I am neither your buddy nor your dude.  Just your music theory professor.”

“Sorry, Professor Stumph,” Brendon replies, sheepish.  Patrick has a grateful look in his eyes though.

“I didn’t know you had hours right now, Patrick,” Dr. Walker says, surprised.  Brendon feels his insides twist; the dean has always seemed especially intimidating to him.

“I don’t,” Patrick admits.  “But Mr. Urie here has convinced me to help him outside of my usual office hours.”  He shoots Brendon a quick grin.  “He really needs a lot of help.”

“Well I’ll leave you to it then,” Dr. Walker says, gesturing to Patrick’s computer.  “You got everything?”

“Yes, thank you Butch,” Patrick replies, standing and walking the dean out.  Neither he nor Brendon relax until Patrick pushes the door closed and they hear it click softly.

Brendon lets out all the air in his lungs at once and throws his backpack on the floor.  He hops up on Patrick’s desk, legs swinging.  “That was close.”

Patrick still has his hand on the doorknob.  Brendon’s eyes are drawn like magnets to the way he worries his lip between his teeth.  “Too close.”

“Hey babe, don’t worry about it.  It’s fine,” Brendon reassures him.  He holds out his arms invitingly.  “C’mere.”

Patrick sighs but walks over anyway, fitting himself between Brendon’s legs and resting his hands on his hips.  “I just worry.”

“I know you do,” Brendon murmurs, reaching out to circle Patrick’s waist with him arms and pull him even closer.  Patrick’s entire career is on the line because of their relationship.

Patrick dips his head to press his face to Brendon’s neck, near the bruise badly hidden by his shirt.  “Sometimes I even worry that I worry too much,” he mumbles in Brendon’s skin.

“Uh huh,” Brendon says, fighting to keep his breath even.  God, Patrick is so good and wonderful and  _ perfect _ and it’s a wonder he doesn’t jump out of his seat every time he has his class and fuck him senseless in front of everyone.

“Bren,” Patrick frets, sinking further into his boyfriend’s embrace, “I’m your  _ professor _ .  I’m supposed to be teaching you about music theory, not—”

“Sucking my dick?” Brendon suggests, and he’s rewarded when Patrick is unable to fight back a giggle he tries to contain.

“I—yes.  But really.”  His voice grows quiet.  “I don’t know how—if—I—”

“Patrick,” Brendon interrupts.  He brings up a hand and cups the side of Patrick’s face with it, tracing his thumb along the line of his jaw.  “Shh...it’s okay.”

“Is it?” Patrick asks, still sounding much too distressed for Brendon’s liking.

“Even if it's not,” Brendon says coyly, “I'm sure I can find a way to make it better.”

Patrick finally seems to relax, leaning back to look into Brendon's eyes more clearly.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, first of all, you'll have to come back here,” Brendon purrs.  “You're way too far away now.”

“Is that so?”  Patrick’s fingers trace a pattern across Brendon’s chest, tapping out a rhythm over his pectoral muscles before ghosting over his nipples through his thin tshirt.

Brendon fights back a shiver—unsuccessfully.  He can feel it shudder its way across his skin, leaving Patrick looking smug.  “Um, I—fuck, yes,” he gasps, reaching up to grab at Patrick’s bow tie and yank him in for a kiss.  He can feel Patrick laughing against his lips, more smiles than actual making out, and well no that’s just simply not acceptable.

Brendon pushes Patrick back, hands firm and splayed across his chest, until he’s able to stand.  He captures his mouth in another kiss, tugging at his sinfully plush bottom lip with his teeth, and it’s all Patrick can do to stay standing.  The laughter is gone now.  They stumble back until Brendon backs Patrick into one of the armchairs he has facing his desk, legs buckling.  Brendon leans over Patrick and traps him in the chair, trailing kisses down the side of his jaw and nipping lightly under his ear.  Patrick practically melts under his touch, soft whimpers escaping from the back of his throat.  Brendon pulls one knee up to press between Patrick’s legs, his other foot still on the floor, and grins at the hardness there pressing back.  Patrick’s breath stutters and trips all over itself.  His hands fist in the fabric of Brendon’s shirt, fingers weak.

Brendon moves his mouth lower, gently sucking on the skin just above Patrick’s collar and pulling at his bow tie until it comes undone.  “Fffuuck,” Patrick hisses.

“That’s the idea,” Brendon agrees.  He pulls back and tilts his head to the side, grinning.  “I mean, it’s  _ my _ idea.  Whether or not you wanna go for it is up to you.”

But Patrick’s eyes are hovering over the bruise on Brendon’s neck, just visible above the collar of his shirt.  “B,” he says softly.  “You need...you should be more careful.  Someone could see that.”  His fingers press lightly on the purple-blue of the spot.

“Someone did,” Brendon replies without thinking, then wants to stab himself in the face when Patrick pales.

“Some—what?  Who?  Bren.”  Patrick tries to push him back, but Brendon doesn’t move.  “B.  Please tell me no one—that no one found out.”

Brendon bites back a snarky remark and takes a deep breath.  “No.  It’s fine.  Dallon asked and I told him to fuck off and that was that.”

“B…”  Patrick worries his red red lip between his teeth, and again Brendon can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to it.  “Maybe...maybe I just shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Mm hm,” Brendon says absently.  Then, “Wait, what?”

“I don’t want to mark you,” Patrick says patiently, “if you’re not going to be more careful.  No one can know, B.”

“I  _ know  _ that,” Brendon replies desperately.  “I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again, just—don’t stop.  Bite lower, or something.  Sometimes I need the reminder that I’m yours, that I’m not losing you.”

Patrick instantly softens at that.  “Bren.  You’re not losing me.  You’ll never lose me.”

“It feels like it sometimes,” Brendon mumbles, pulling himself all the way into his boyfriend’s lap and curling up in it.  “Sometimes you look at me so coldly, and call me Mr. Urie, and I have to call you Professor, and it—we don’t feel real then, like this is all a dream.  A wonderful, wonderful dream, but still a dream.”

“Brendon.”  His name is a sigh slipping past Patrick’s lips, sad and achy and yearning and full of want at the same time.  “Bren.  You know why I do that.  You know.”

“I know,” Brendon says quietly.  “But I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Patrick replies.  “But you always look at me like...like…”

“Like I wanna fuck your brains out?” Brendon supplies helpfully.

Patrick huffs out a laugh.  “Yes.  That exactly.  And sometimes I have half a mind to let you.  But we can’t.”

Brendon knows this, of course.  Has known these things would have to be ever since he first laid eyes on the professor and had his first fantasies of dragging him into a closet or backroom and pulling all his clothes off.  Nearly three years of seeing Patrick around campus and not being able to have him nearly drove him crazy.  Thank god for the summer…

“Well, we can now,” Brendon reminds Patrick, and he’s rewarded with the red that blooms across his cheeks.  “Maybe,” Brendon says slowly, righting himself and fingering the top button on Patrick’s shirt.  “Maybe I could...you know, since you’re the one that always wears the shirts with collars…” he pulls the top buttons opened and dips his head down to keep pressing kisses to Patrick’s neck, just above his collar bone.  He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Brendon can feel the breath sucking down Patrick’s throat, shuddery and unstable.  “I, uh, Bren.”

“Hm?” Brendon hums, but before Patrick can reply he bites at the skin, gentle at first, and then harder, until he knows it will bruise.  Patrick squirms under him, pulling him closer and pushing him away at the same time.  Brendon kisses away the bite, roaming upwards to smooth over Patrick’s jaw with his lips.  “There,” he whispers, “now I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Patrick looks like he would be smiling if he weren’t so insanely turned on at the moment.  “Brendon,” he says, voice husky and dark.  “Brendon.”  He says his name like a prayer, like it’s fragile and beautiful and a treasure.

“Patrick,” Brendon says back, and it’s the same sentiment.  He checks his watch again.  They still have time for…

Brendon eases out of Patrick’s lap and to the floor, sliding his hands up Patrick’s thighs.  His hands glide smoothly over the slick material of Patrick’s dress pants, and he doesn’t stop until his fingers ghost over his belt buckle, pulling it undone.

“Bren,” Patrick says weakly.

“Shh,” Brendon soothes, pulling at Patrick’s shirt until it comes untucked.  He presses a kiss to Patrick’s soft stomach.  “We have time.  Let me do this for you.”

Patrick looks like he couldn’t say no if he wanted to.  “At least,” he gasps, when Brendon undoes his pants and gives him a lazy smile, “at least, uh,  _ fuck _ , afterwards, let me return the favor.”

“Sure, babe,” Brendon replies easily.  “Anything you want.”

* * *

When they finally make it out of Patrick’s office, both trying to look like they hadn’t just gotten stellar blow jobs, Brendon has to resist reaching out to hold Patrick’s hand with every fiber of his being.  He wants to hold his hand, wants to kiss him in public, wants to talk about him as though he’s more than a professor to his friends.  Brendon  _ wants _ , but he wants things he can’t have.  For now though, he’ll settle for glancing at Patrick and laughing at his still-disheveled look.  His hair pokes erratically out from underneath his hat, and his bow tie is crooked.  Patrick’s face is still flushed, and he looks like he’s trying too hard to keep a straight face.

“You look like everything I’ve ever wanted,” Brendon murmurs, reminding himself yet again that he can’t lace his fingers with his boyfriend’s.

He’s rewarded with yet another blush.  “We’re in public,” Patrick says softly back.

“I know,” Brendon replies, clenching his fist because  _ no he can’t hold Patrick’s hand stop thinking about it _ .  “I’m having a really hard time caring though.”

Patrick gives him a concerned look.  “B…”

Brendon sighs.  “I know.  I’ll be careful.”  His heart aches with a feeling he can’t quite name.  He looks around the hallway they’re walking down.  “Can we just walk to class together for once?  Dr. Walker himself already knew we were spending time together, so I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

Patrick hesitates for a fraction of a second before shrugging.  “Sure.”

“Hey, ‘Trick!”

Patrick turns at the voice.  “Pete!”

Brendon feels that familiar jealousy twist in his stomach before setting a carefully neutral, standard, I’m-a-bored-college-student-that’s-dying-on-the-inside expression on his face.  “Good afternoon, Professor Wentz,” he greets politely.  Even if Professor Wentz had nothing to do with Patrick’s punishment the other week, he still holds an irrational grudge against him.  Sure, he failed an English assignment, but really?  No sex?  For over a week!?  It had been pure hell.

“You busy right now?” Wentz asks, falling easily into step beside them.

“Yeah, actually I have a class right now.  Sorry,” Patrick explains.

Wentz shrugs.  “It’s fine.  I’ll catch you after.”  He turns and gives Brendon an unreadable look.  “I’ll see you in class, Urie.  Whatever you did to study for that test—keep doing it.”  He waves goodbye.

Patrick smirks at Brendon.  “No!” Brendon says adamantly, realizing what that smile means.  “We are never, ever,  _ ever _ doing that again!”

“Keep your grade up in English and we won’t have to,” Patrick teases.

“I hate you,” Brendon grumbles, crossing his arms.

Patrick chuckles lightly.  “I highly doubt that.”

Brendon shrugs.  “Okay, maybe I like you a little.”

“Really.”

“Maybe...maybe I like you a lot,” Brendon admits.

Patrick grins.  “I always knew I was your favorite teacher.  Why else would you take my class a second time?”

“Because I failed it the first time?” Brendon suggests.

Patrick rolls his eyes.  “I don’t know why.  Whenever I looked up you were the only one who was looking at me with any consistency.”

“Doesn’t mean I was paying attention,” Brendon replies, holding the door to Patrick’s classroom open for him.  “Maybe I was just enjoying the view.”

Patrick goes red again, but doesn’t say anything when he sees that there are already other students in the class.  He clears his throat.  “Go ahead and take a seat, Mr. Urie.”  He heads for the front of the class and his desk without another word.

Brendon sits, fighting off the wave of insecurity by pressing his fingers to the hickies he sports under his shirt.  One of them is old, but the other is new, a little lower, a little better hidden.  A little closer to his heart.  Brendon smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop some comments if you'd like! halfsweet and I are planning on collaborating on this AU a lot more, so be on the lookout for that (eventually, we both have school). :)


End file.
